


Barbie dolls

by thundercrackfic



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Ficlet, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22170277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundercrackfic/pseuds/thundercrackfic
Summary: An idle question, a painful answer.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 27





	Barbie dolls

“Have you ever wondered,” Aziraphale asked with the careful enunciation of the fairly drunk, “why there’re only two of us?”

“Two of what?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale realized he couldn’t see where the voice was coming from. He looked side to side, still didn’t see Crowley. Let himself slouch a bit, and his chin met his chest, and there the demon was, a pile of loose limbs leaning against the setee.

“Well, really, it’s whaaa. One. Ea—“ he hiccuped. “One of each. One angel, one demon. Thasall there’s ever been. You—“ and he had to spend a moment focusing on getting his finger pointed at the correct azimuth and declination, “‘n me. No more demons, just you.”

“‘S only one angel, and it’s you,” Crowley said.

Aziraphale felt hot, but he wasn’t sure why. It seemed to take an extraordinary effort to make his lips move, but he persisted. “D’you think She meant. F’r us. To be. Togrr. Trg. Friends?” he asked, with a sappy smile.

Crowley abandoned his languid posture. “Don’t, Angel.”

“But iss just you and me. It’s fade. Fate. Destiny.”

Crowley showed all his teeth. “Think about what you are saying. If She’s up there deciding we’re fated for each other—“ and the word _fate_ came out with a sneer, it was all sneering, yet better-enunciated than Aziraphale’s drunken drawl—“it’s no better than a child playing with fashion dolls, smashing their neutered naughty bits together. I want no part of that.” With the last sentence he stood up, as if to leave.

”Crowley.” Aziraphale pouted. Even if she meant it, f’r us to be friends, from my perserr—perrst—perspective, I still chose. Choose. You.” 

Crowley snarled. “If I choose to spend time with you it has fuck all to do with Her. It’s you, and me, and no one else.” He stalked toward the front of the shop. 

“Crowley, please. Don’t go,” Aziraphale begged, feeling the erstwhile convivial evening sliding rapidly toward disaster. “I’m sorry,” he said, not quite sure what he was apologizing for, a little dizzy from the sudden emotional shift.

”Tell it to Her,” Crowley said, and then the bookshop door shut with a jingle, and Aziraphale was alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for this wine fueled angst.


End file.
